


he whistles and he runs

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Ritual Sex, Smut, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: “Tom,” he murmured, ducking under a branch and nearly touching the top of Tom's diary with his lips, “I really don’t like this.”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973395
Comments: 11
Kudos: 144





	he whistles and he runs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellionne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellionne/gifts), [TheLadyGia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyGia/gifts), [PinkyToes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkyToes/gifts).



> Hello, here's my first Kink/Goretober fic. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
>  **Prompts:** Ritual, come-marking
> 
> Beta'ed by Raven and my boyfriend. Thanks for the advice, both of you (and my enablers).
> 
> And thanks to my enablers: J, Reign, Starry, and Elli~ (I hope you four especially enjoy this).

“Tom, are you sure this is where I’m supposed to go?” Harry whispered, clinging tightly to a small, black book. It didn’t respond. He shouldn’t expect it to; Tom only answered when Harry wrote to him, despite how much Harry would love to talk to him face to face. The instructions had told Harry to walk along a narrow path deep in the forest, and so that’s where he would go.

Gnarled, knobbly trees grew far into the sky, their trunks covered in moss and lichens. Their exposed roots hid underneath agitated serpent vines, and thorny brambles clung to his robe like grasping fingers.

This deep in the forbidden forest was nothing good and everything dangerous. Not a single ray of light shone through the dense, leafy roof, and a swirling fog oozed out of graveyard lace flowers. The trees were so dense it was hard to see anything at all.

“Tom,” he murmured, ducking under a branch and nearly touching the top of Tom's diary with his lips, “I really don’t like this.”

The only sound was his footsteps, the crackling of leaves and cracking of sticks (and those strange hisses he couldn’t quite understand). He shivered then. What if Tom _was_ wrong? Harry could get killed— 

Tom wouldn’t intentionally put him in danger, Harry was certain. Tom cared about him, he’d told Harry so in the faded red firelight in the Gryffindor common room, long after everyone else had gone to sleep. Tom had teased him about spilling his inkwell across the diary in embarrassment _for days_.

The fog was so thick he couldn’t see the ground at his feet any longer. He gulped. They’d done an assignment on graveyard lace flowers last year. Harry didn’t remember much, except they grew where magical corpses lay, buried and decomposing. The small white flowers were dotted throughout the hazy grey that spewed from their centres.

A bird cawed, cutting through the silence like a knife. He froze, clutching the diary to his chest, heart pounding. His wide eyes darted around the area, flitting from tree branch to tree branch, but it was nowhere to be seen. Harry closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. _It was fine. Everything was fine_. He carefully opened his eyes again.

A scream caught in his throat, black feathers filling his vision. He ducked, but not before the bird (a crow? A raven?) clawed at his face, missing his skin by mere millimetres. He stumbled and fell hard on his knees, the damp ground squelching beneath his weight. His glasses fell, and when he picked them up again they were streaked in mud. He cleaned them as best as he could on his sleeve, but it just smeared around the lens. He put them into his pocket with shaking hands. If he squinted he could see well enough, anyway.

Tom’s diary had managed to stay in his sweaty palms — a small relief. His heartbeat was as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

Harry jumped each time sticks broke under his feet, eyes darting around, but there was nothing but eerie, blurry gloom as far as his eyes could see.

It wasn’t long before he stumbled into a clearing, suspiciously absent of the lingering mist. A stone altar stood proudly in the middle, painfully bright sunlight somehow breaking through the leafy roof and illuminating it. There were no grasses or flowers around the base, just compacted dirt and gravel.

It looked dangerous. He should turn back. Maybe he would’ve if Tom wasn’t resting against his chest, enclosed in a book and hoping for freedom.

Maybe he would if he wasn’t so Gryffindor.

He walked forward, placing the diary on the altar, ignoring the stabbing pain of his retinas as he entered the sun. His gut coiled in anticipation — he’d finally get to meet Tom, to see his face, his body. To meet the boy he thought he might do anything for.

( _He ignored the_ doubt, doubt, doubt _spreading through his veins like treacle, the sickening bile in the back of his throat like he knew something was about to go wrong any second._ )

The moment he placed it right in the middle the altar seemed to glow, tiny, near-invisible runes lighting up all over the surface, like long, swirling vines.

A coiling black cloud swirled out of the book then, a sickening green around the edges. It pulled tighter and tighter and formed the curious shape of a boy, half a head taller than Harry and much more handsome, with dark eyes and hair. He wore a Hogwarts robe, just like Harry, but it looked old fashioned and second hand.

“Tom Riddle?” Harry asked, and Tom nodded, face carefully blank. “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.” An embarrassed smile stretched his lips, and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Tom probably thought he was a loon.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harry.” His footsteps were silent; Harry didn’t know he was standing in front of him until he was _right there_ , grabbing Harry’s hand. He raised it to his mouth, carefully, precisely, and swept his lips across the back of it. _Oh_. Harry’s heart fluttered. “I need you to do one more thing for me. _Incarcerous_.”

Thick ropes bound Harry’s wrists behind his back and pulled his ankles together so close he couldn’t keep his balance. He toppled forward into Tom’s waiting arms.

“You made it so easy for me.” Tom waved a wand — Harry’s wand, how? — and levitated Harry over to the altar. Curiously enough though, he didn’t place Harry on it, dropping him on the ground right beside it instead. Another _incarcerous_ and Harry couldn’t pull his calves away from his thighs. “Now, wait.”

“No, _no_ , Tom, you can’t do this,” Harry pleaded, squirming in the tight ropes. Tom’s eyes flashed as they made contact with Harry’s, a snarl on his lips. There was something _off_ about this whole situation, and Harry wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“Don’t tell me what to do. Behave yourself.” Betrayal stung his chest and he looked away, hurt. Everything stood still for a few moments, and then movement sounded behind him, on the other side of the altar. A squawk and a low gurgling made Harry choke, and his stomach lurched violently, but he managed to keep his lunch down.

Harry couldn’t hear anything beyond the subtle rustle of leaves, and a steady drip, drip, drip into a bowl.

He didn’t know what Tom was doing. Was he preparing to kill Harry? He didn’t think he’d be a good ritual sacrifice; he was young, a virgin even. He gulped — that probably made him even more alluring. But maybe that didn’t matter, maybe Tom only needed his magic or his soul.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, hands trembling.

“I hope you’re comfortable.” Tom’s voice floated over the altar and Harry jumped, tensing. At the _shink_ of metal against metal his breath quickened, heart pounding. “I wouldn’t want to be a poor host, after all.”

Despite his fear, his pants tightened as Tom spoke. He clenched his thighs, but that just made his cock twitch against the fabric. Gods, he could hardly breathe.

A clatter, then soft footsteps. He looked up as Tom came into view, fixated on the slight smug smile and triumphant gleam in his eyes.

“Oh dear, it looks like you’ve got a problem.”

Harry flushed, inspecting the bushes behind Tom with feigned interest. “No—” he winced as his voice cracked. “No, there’s no problem.”

“Don’t you want me, Harry?” Tom said, pressing his foot against Harry’s crotch. He flushed violently as he realised how hard he was. “I think you do. I was there,” Tom said, glinting eyes betraying his excitement. Harry, however, ceased his struggling in horror. He was there, every time Harry had touched himself to thoughts of Tom, even though he’d known nothing but his handwriting and the nicer bits of his personality. He felt his embarrassment heat his cheeks and wished he could bury his face in his hands. “I could hear _every single thought_ that ran through your head. You fantasised about me a lot, didn’t you?”

Tom finally stepped away, leaving Harry’s hard cock alone again. He didn’t know if it was a curse or a relief.

Harry watched as Tom crossed his arms behind his back, pacing.

“I was quite lucky I was found by you, of all people.” A wry smile formed on Tom’s face. “ _Harry Potter. Who else could it be._ ” Harry had to strain his ears to hear him. “But now,” he started, louder once more, “Now I have you here, _scared_. Scared of _me_. I’m almost disappointed, but your fear is absolutely divine. Everything you do makes me stronger, and it feels so _good_.” Tom tilted his head, angling it towards the sun, and inhaled so deeply Harry could see his ribcage rise. It was a provocative move, a successful move, for Harry’s cock twitched even as his fists clenched.

And he _knew_ Tom knew what he was doing.

“The ritual I want to use to restore my body requires you to be willing.” Harry shot him a furious glare — how could Tom even entertain the notion? — but Tom gave him a dark, secretive look which left his hands limp and shaking. “Of course, if you refuse there’s always the alternative. Slowly, over the course of a few hours, I drain all your magic, life and soul. I didn’t think you’d like that one all that much,” Tom added when he saw the expression on Harry’s face.

“I need you to give yourself over to me, to give your body over to me.” Tom knelt down in front of him, grabbing his chin firmly. Harry couldn’t help but shudder, face warming as those long fingers curled around his jaw, thumb caressing the skin just under Harry’s ear. He could hardly breathe, the air palpable between them.

“Will you kill me,” Harry asked and Tom laughed, warm and low. His face was far too handsome, Harry thought, and then hoped with all his being that Tom didn’t hear him.

“Of course not, I’ve invested far too much into you to do away with you now.” Harry felt himself relax, reassured despite himself.

“Okay then.” Harry looked Tom dead in the eyes and licked his suddenly dry lips. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you’d _come around,_ ” Tom’s eyes gleamed with mirth, and then he was standing up, moving away from Harry’s body. Without his touch, Harry’s skin was cold. “The ritual is simple, I’m sure you’ll understand what to do right away. You’re a smart boy.”

As Tom unbuttoned his pants it suddenly sunk in. A sex ritual? Harry hadn’t done anything like that before, beyond mistletoe kisses with his friends. He wouldn’t know what to do, or where to put his hands, or—

“Don’t panic,” Tom’s voice startled him, jarring in its clarity. “You’ll figure out what to do. I only need your face and mouth.”

Harry opened his eyes ( _when had he closed them?_ ) and jumped when he realised just how close Tom had gotten. He was trapped, Tom at his front and cold stone at his back. Those blasted ropes still restrained his arms and legs, and he couldn’t squirm away when Tom grabbed him by his hair, tilting his head up.

“Open,” Tom said, and Harry did.

Tom’s cock tasted like parchment and old leather. The alternative to the strange taste was death, however, so he didn’t complain. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He’d only heard stories of blowjobs from Seamus, who always seemed to know everything about sex. Seamus acted like it was an innate talent everyone seemed to have, but Harry wasn’t too sure. Right now, he wasn’t sure he had the talent for anything at all beyond sitting still and letting Tom do what he wanted to him.

Tom let him gently run his tongue over the smooth skin and learn the weight of it against his tongue. He gave himself time before he closed his lips around it, sucking gently. The hand in his hair gradually loosened as Tom realised Harry was participating out of his own free will until Tom’s fingers were merely carding through the thick pile of curls. It was reassuring, and he felt himself grow more and more comfortable with what he was doing. Slowly but surely he worked his way down, further and further until he could take half into his mouth. Unfortunately, the back of his throat was an impassable object and Tom had to settle for less, though he clearly didn’t want to, Harry could feel the little thrusts of his hips.

Tom started letting out little gasps when Harry twirled his tongue or sucked with the right amount of pressure. He wanted to grab Tom’s cock, to jerk the bit he couldn’t fit into his mouth, but his hands stayed behind his back, wrists still wrapped up.

Apparently, even now, Tom didn’t trust him.

As he gained confidence, he allowed himself more, bobbing his head along Tom’s length, wishing he could feel the slight quiver of Tom’s thighs under his hands while he worked. He was used to the taste by now, couldn’t imagine cock as anything else.

Maybe, despite the deception, he still liked Tom, wanted him with all his being.

The hand in his hair tightened once more, and Tom positively shook as Harry sucked particularly hard, a low moan leaving his lips. Harry was aching in his pants, longing to reach down and touch himself, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t and it turned him on more.

“Harry, _oh_.” Tom’s eyes were glowing, reddish and bright as he met Harry’s, and then his cock was gone, leaving Harry’s mouth strangely empty. Tom took himself in hand, tugging with more force than Harry did for himself. “I’m gonna—”

The first spurt splattered across Harry’s eyebrows and he closed his eyes reflexively. He thought about saying something, but then realised he had nothing _to_ say. Another spurt landed on his cheek, and then another across his nose and lips. He darted his tongue out and screwed his face up. It tasted like ink.

“Thank you, Harry,” Tom said, a nearly imperceptible wobble in his voice. “Will you run if I untie you?”

He wouldn’t, not like this ( _not without his wand_ ). He could hardly breathe, his stomach clenching with need. He wanted Tom to touch him, to maybe reciprocate.

“No.”

As his circulation began moving through his hands and feet once more he couldn’t help but tremble, in anticipation, or need, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he wanted to know. He rubbed his wrists and ankles, pouting at the tingling in his extremities.

“I need you to get on the altar, can you do that for me?” Tom said softly, hand outstretched. Harry grabbed it, face warming at the tremble in his fingers. He let Tom pull him up, and carefully climbed on the altar. It wasn’t very comfortable to lie on — his only respite was that he wouldn’t have to be on it for long.

Here, when he turned his head, he could see what Tom had on the other side. A whole dead rooster, hung by its feet, bled into a bowl. By now its dripping had slowed to the point where it hardly drained at all, and the bowl underneath was filled with ruby red blood. There were other things as well; a bundle of herbs, a shimmering potion, and a small bag. Harry almost didn’t want to know what hid inside it.

“Look up for me,” Tom said, leaning over Harry’s head and blocking some of the glaring sunlight. Tom even looked handsome upside down.

Tom’s fingers moved through the come on his cheek, dragging it into the shape of runes. When Tom scooped some of the come from his nose and pulled his hand away, Harry could see it was dark, inky, unlike his own.

Tom drew a rune on Harry’s forehead, and another one on Harry’s neck, and then stepped away, leaving Harry’s eyes exposed to the brightness of the sunlight. He closed his eyes reflexively.

“You look good like that,” Tom said offhandedly, and Harry blushed, embarrassment burning coiling in his stomach. Strangely enough, he enjoyed being covered in Tom’s come, perhaps not this way in particular, but under different circumstances, he could be easily persuaded into it.

Harry heard Tom place the bowl of chicken blood down on the altar, the ceramic clinking against the smooth stone. He didn’t want to get covered in chicken blood, but he knew Tom needed him to be willing. He readied himself for the feel of blood (would it be warm, or cold?) but the sensation never came. He cracked an eye open, looking over at Tom when he heard the subtle sound of dripping fingers, and he couldn’t help but gasp.

Tom had shed his outer robe, shirt and tie — Harry could see them folded up neatly next to the bag — and Harry realised Tom was the slightest bit transparent. At some point, Tom had acquired a mirror (perhaps magic, or maybe it was in the bag. He wouldn’t put it past Tom to conjure one, however; Tom was a genius after all), and was carefully painting runes on his torso with his free hand. The blood made Tom’s pale skin look paler, and Harry flushed when he realised Tom caught him staring. Tom threw him a little smile and Harry flushed once more, squeezing his legs together. Gods, Tom’s mouth did _things_ to him. The blood didn’t drip, somehow it started drying the moment it touched Tom’s skin. Magic, it had to be. But when Tom moved closer he could see it had _sunk into his skin_.

Tom really did have the characteristics of a book, even in this humanoid form.

“Now, relax. You don’t have to do a thing.” Harry did so, letting Tom tie something into the strands of his hair. They smelled sweet, their scent powerful enough to break through the overwhelming aroma of ink flooding his nose.

Tom chanted softly as he worked, smooth, rhythmic vocals falling out of his lips. It lulled Harry into a sense of security and safety, even if he couldn’t understand it. He wasn’t sure what language it was, but he thought it may be Gaelic.

He breathed carefully, deeply, as Tom brushed a stray curl off of his forehead and trusted Tom with his body, with his _soul_.

“You’re doing so well, Harry,” Tom whispered, and Harry’s lips pulled into a slight smile.

A powerful light feeling was rising in his gut, almost overwhelming its capacity and he knew it to be his magic, rising up and preparing to spread out of him to help Tom. There was something else there as well, something darker intertwining with his magic. Tom.

Tom finished his chanting, body tense, and Harry watched him disappear from view, hissing in pain.

Colour, everywhere, lighting up the very air around him, sparked through his fingertips and filled the grove with the most unimaginable lightness. Harry could drift away on the weightlessness of the magic, the easy way it eased inside his bones and ached to carry him away.

He could hardly tell as it faded, vision blurry and breath stuttering in his chest. It was the most magic he’d ever felt in his life, perhaps even more glorious than the magic of Hogwarts herself.

A groan sounded from the ground, and he pushed himself up unsteadily. Gods, he couldn’t even feel his legs, which he swung over the side of the stone and hopped down onto the ground. He didn’t feel the same, not with that intoxicating magic coating him. He stumbled over to Tom, his legs shaky, and collapsed on the ground next to him, uncaring of the dampness seeping through his pants.

“Tom,” Harry giggled. Tom looked like a right mess, but the transparent sheen had disappeared. Blood flaked off his skin, falling into the Earth below. “I can’t see through your head anymore. You’re real now.”

Tom coughed, pushing himself up a little. He seemed very out of sorts. “It worked? I—” He looked at Harry with wide eyes, an untamed grin spreading across his face. He looked the happiest Harry had ever seen someone. “Harry, _I could kiss you_.”

Harry flushed, and emboldened by the wild magic he said, “Why don’t you?”

Despite Tom’s shakiness, he pulled Harry down, and Harry landed half on top of him, fingers curling into Tom’s hair as their lips pressed together, fuelled by a chaotic fury. As their lips moved against each other, Harry couldn’t help but want more. He opened his mouth for Tom’s tongue, giving in to his dominance with desperate need.

He was still hard — he had been the entire time — and it made itself known when they shifted closer, Harry’s legs falling on either side of Tom’s hips.

“I should take care of you. I think you deserve it,” Tom said, a wicked smile on his face and Harry nodded eagerly. Merlin, Tom was a sight, streaks of dried blood cracked across his face and body, hair mussed and cheeks flushed. His lips were red, and Harry couldn’t help but think about kissing him again until they were purpling, of sucking and biting his lip until he lost control. And _oh_ , didn’t that thought make him tremble. “Your mind, Harry—” Tom said, “—is delightful.”

He’d forgotten Tom had that wonderful trick, _legilimency_. Harry didn’t even feel Tom slipping into his mind.

He dove forward as Tom’s hands pulled him down and pressed their lips together, scraping Tom’s lip with his teeth and revelling in the soft moan that spilled from his lips. The feel of their bodies pressed together was spectacular, and he shivered at the feel of the long length hardening against his hip. He wondered if Tom felt the same about Harry’s.

Tom’s hands unbuttoned Harry’s shirt without care, tugging in frustration when the buttons refused to come undone and then moved to Harry’s school slacks, which he only pulled Harry’s cock out of. He couldn’t help but look down at himself, at the bead of pre-come sliding down the head. When he looked at Tom, his dark eyes were _ravenous_.

“Gods, look at you, face covered in my come, so hard for me,” Tom cut himself off as he grabbed Harry’s cock, seemingly relishing in the moan Harry couldn’t hold back. “Wonderful, you’re so responsive to my touch.”

Tom’s free hand trailed over Harry’s stomach, running through the hair there and up to his chest. The brush of Tom’s thumb against his nipple sent sparks down to his cock, which twitched needily in Tom’s grip. When Tom finally started jerking him off it was almost too much, and he curled over, hand on the ground next to Tom’s head. Each movement of Tom’s hands left his body aching for more and crying for release.

“Tom,” he whimpered helplessly, and Tom smiled the genuine smile from before, tightening his grip just a little and _fuck_ —

He’d never felt a better orgasm in his life, his thighs trembling and hands shaking as he wanted to curl further into himself, to protect himself from Tom’s determined hand which milked him through it, squeezing until the very last drips were out. He couldn’t open his eyes for a while, head spinning and body exhausted. He was tempted to fall asleep right here, on top of Tom, without cleaning up anything. He could hardly breathe, his chest only accepting air when he forced it to.

“Merlin,” he breathed, opening his eyes to Tom, Harry’s come streaking his chest and stomach, one spurt even catching his chin. If he hadn’t just come, he’d get hard from this alone.

“Quite.” Despite his curt tone, Tom’s eyes were softened with fondness. At least, Harry hoped they were. “You don’t need to deal with me, I’ve already had enough for today.”

With reluctance in every movement, Harry forced himself to move. His legs were weak, and he helplessly collapsed next to Tom, who got up like he wasn’t sporting an erection as noticeable as a unicorn in a thestral herd. He still had Harry’s wand, though Harry wasn’t sure where he’d kept it. Tom waved it over his body and all the residue on his skin disappeared, and then he did the same to Harry. The spell cooled his skin until he was shivering, but he felt noticeably cleaner.

A couple of vanishing charms and all the evidence of the ritual was gone; the altar in the middle was the only thing remaining, as undisturbed as it had been before they’d come here.

“I can’t come back to the castle with you,” Tom said as Harry buttoned up his shirt. “But I like—I’d like to exchange letters with you.”

Harry flushed, suddenly finding his buttons very interesting. “That would be nice.” He looked up again, meeting Tom’s eyes as he said, “You didn’t have to trick me, you know. I-I’ve liked you for so long, I would’ve done it anyway.”

Tom was the one who flushed this time, a charming pink coating his cheeks. “Yes, well. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Determination settled in Harry’s gut and he marched forward, refusing to get embarrassed, and he grabbed Tom’s hands in his own, looking up at him. Tom’s hair was back to the perfect state it had been when he’d come out of the diary, much to Harry’s dismay. However, he comforted himself with the knowledge that he’d seen Tom without his stuck up persona.

“How many of our conversations were real?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, pressing himself against Tom’s warmth. Tom looked away, a strange twist to his lips.

“Since December, when you said you’d like to sit with me in the Astronomy Tower and share my birthday with me, all our conversations have been truthful.” Tom paused. “The only lie I told you were the circumstances of the ritual.”

He remembered that night, where he sat alone at the top of the Tower, just him and Tom, trapped in the diary. Tom had told him a lot of things since then, had scrawled out his fears in his perfect handwriting and helped Harry with his own. 

“I’m not happy you lied to me,” Harry said seriously but tightened his grip on Tom’s hands when he tried to pull away. “I am happy you’re being truthful now, though. And I’m happy you’re with me, in person I mean.”

Tom let Harry twist their fingers together, a curious expression on his face.

The way back to the castle was far less scary when he could follow Tom, who knew the way back. Tom gave him the diary at the edge of the forest, tucked under the shade of the trees.

“Write in it when you’re lonely, and I’ll always write back.” And with that he spun on his heel, disappearing in a swirl of black, flying away over the treetops.

When Harry got back to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, a small note rested on his pillow, a deep red rose on top.

_Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight. TR_


End file.
